Category: Gen, canon
Characters/Pairings: Merlin, Arthur
Rating/Warnings: K
Summary: Arthur's idle conversation has an unexpected effect.
Notes: Last night I suddenly remembered that I was writing a sequel to this, but I couldn't for the life of me remember what it was. I opened up my document to check... and ended up finishing it. Hope you enjoy!

"I've always thought I'd die in battle," Arthur confided, shifting slightly in his bedroll and sighing contentedly. It was summer, almost unbearably hot, and his father had given him leave to go hunting for a few days. "Sword in hand, defending my kingdom... it'd be a heroic death, one befitting the king of Camelot. There'd be songs about it. Poems."

Merlin snickered.

"Oh, shut up," Arthur said as he scowled across the fire at him. "Alright then, what about you? How have you always pictured it?"

The campfire cast odd shadows on Merlin's face as his expression froze. "Eh, I can't say I've given it much thought, but I'd say... your neck breaking 'cause of your fat head," Merlin answered, deliberately obtuse as per usual, but there was an unusual brittleness to his smile that Arthur missed in his indignation.

"I don't have a fat head," Arthur retorted.

"'Course you do," Merlin replied sagely, sounding curiously relieved. "Fattest in all the kingdoms. It's a wonder you can get your crown on at all, really..."

It was some time before they settled down after that, but when the name-calling finally subsided, Arthur pillowed his head in his arms and watched the stars through the gaps in the leaves, content in a way that only a good argument could make him. He let his thoughts drift lazily as a warm summer breeze stirred the branches above their heads, and finally they led him full-circle.

"Merlin?"

"Mmm?"

"You never answered my question."

"What's your question?" Merlin murmured, sounding as if he were barely awake.

"How do you think you're going to die?"

At first Arthur thought that his silence meant that he'd fallen asleep, question or no, but when he glanced over to check, he saw that Merlin's eyes were wide open, staring hard at the fire as they reflected the flames. His expression was set and wary, but then his eyes darted to see Arthur watching him and forced a grin that looked skeletal. "Never really thought about it," he said, raising and lowering shoulder in a casual shrug that shifted his blankets all around.

"Oh, come on, you must have. Everyone has. Especially with all the close calls we've had - it'd leave anyone thinking about death, even a little coward like you. Yours isn't something boring, is it? Like... like, disease, or old age or something?" Silence again. "It is, isn't it? Which is it, then?"

"I never thought I'd live to an old age," Merlin finally said, his voice so quiet it was almost drowned out by the crackling of their fire. "Not even when I was a boy."

"Really?" Arthur asked, propping himself up on one elbow. "Why is that?" Even amidst all the dreams of glory and song, he'd allowed himself one scenario in which he lived until he was old and grey. In it he lay in his bed, surrounded by his loved ones — Morgana, a few vaguely-featured children, a son who looked just like him, and (more recently) Guinevere, looking just as beautiful as ever. But Merlin was always there, just as old and grey as he was, still at his side, and it was that image that made him say, "I've always thought you'd die an old man."

"Because I'm such a coward?" Merlin retorted, so frigidly that Arthur felt almost as though the temperature in the clearing had dropped a bit.

"No — of course not," Arthur replied, taken aback. "I just — I just don't think you'd die in combat, is all." Merlin did seem to have an uncanny ability to escape unscathed from all of their skirmishes, no matter that he never carried a weapon or wore any armor, so he wasn't even telling a lie.

In the light of the fire, Merlin's face was closed and pinched; a little furrow had appeared between his eyes.

"What is it, Merlin?" Arthur finally asked, half exasperated and half curious about what had gotten his manservant so riled. There was no answer. "Look, I'm sorry I called you a coward. I've just... I've seen you behind too many trees during fights, I guess. Hiding very bravely." Silence. "And old age isn't a coward's death. My father's probably going to die of old age, and he isn't a coward." Merlin's face twitched, but there was no other response. "Unless some dirty great sorcerer comes and finishes him off first, I guess," Arthur mused, and Merlin finally reacted.

"Alright," Merlin snapped, sitting up abruptly. "Fine, I'll tell you. You want to know how I think I'm going to die? Because I think about it all the time. Being burnt. Being beheaded. Drowned. Hanged. Or — or blown up, by some other — some sorcerer. And every time, my mother waits at home for me to visit and I never come because you never bother to tell her, and I think about it all the time, Arthur, and I still follow you into battle and out on these ridiculous quests, so don't you dare tell me that I'm a coward. Don't you dare."

Then he lay down again, his back deliberately to Arthur, and did not speak another word.

Arthur stared at him, feeling lost. None of those scenarios made sense. None more so than old age, at least. And so he could think of nothing to say, not for ages, not until he was certain that Merlin was already asleep, but he said it anyway. "Of course I'd tell your mother," he whispered, sure that Merlin couldn't hear him.

But across the fire Merlin tensed, and the set of his back seemed to say, "Would you?"